Harry Potter & Los Angeles by Night
by Pepe Gato
Summary: In desperation, they turned to him. They just didn't know, what L.A. had turned him into.
1. Chapter 1

**Harry Potter and Los Angeles by Night**

**1. Something... ...Magic this way comes...**

* * *

><p>A loud "CRACK" reverberated through the alley, followed by cursing and a figure toppling over a trash bin. Bill Weasley was not a happy man. Not in the slightest. It was bad enough to travel half a planet in what many would consider a wild goose chase, he didn't need to miscalculate the apparition point and fall over the rubbish ridden, humid and smelly pavement.<p>

"Bloody city, damn it!" He cursed inwardly "And new robes too"

"Took you long enough, William" The voice was raspy, stern, yet it came with a smile and a hand to help him up. Bill took the hand with a laugh.

"Only my mother calls me William, Sirius. Coming from you it's almost creepy" he smiled back.

"Yeah well, had you been my son, you'd have inherited this handsome, charming mug and your name would've been something awe-inspiring and impressive like Apollo, or Orion."

"I think that one's even worse, mate"

"It's your name, what's the fun in not using it if I can rile you up a bit by doing so, Billy." Sirius chortled merrily, casting a quick charm on his friend to tidy him up a bit. "There, now you look like a decent enough wizard. A pity we have to get you out of those clothes, hotstuff"

"Are you coming on to me, you old pervert? Because 'almost creepy' doesn't even begin to cover it this time"

"Don't need to go and get all flustered. I'm not about to change my tastes, nor be the target of the scorn and fury of both your mother and your wife. Your chastity is safe, mate. Never liked redheads anyway, too many freckles."

Both wizards continued their argument in a hushed tone, walking at a slow pace.

Bill was given a bag with muggle clothing. Nothing too fancy. A t-shirt, denim trousers and a pair of trainers. "Robes aren't inconspicuous enough for this. We've got to get into a few muggle sites, and they're too crowded for disillusionment or notice-me-not charms"

"It's true, then? Have we found him?" He asked, hopeful.

Sirius drew a heavy sigh. "I don't know. I'm not sure, but I do really want to believe we've made it this time. I just hope it's not another red herring."

"Professor Dumbledore wouldn't have sent us away if he didn't believe the information was reliable enough. You know that, Sirius."

"Albus is a man, Bill, not an icon, not the picture in a chocolate-frog card, nor the bloody hero of a pulp story. Like you and me, he makes mistakes. Sending my godson to those awful people was a mistake. Trusting that poor, little Neville Longbottom would defeat You Know Who with nothing but vague clues about ancient magical relics or old legends was another one"

"The Ministry has held together for almost twenty years thanks to him alone, Sirius. At least give the man some credit. Dad always said he looked out for us, even if he couldn't see where we were" Bill struggled, fumbling with the trousers' fly. "For what it's worth, I'm sure he's sorry for making you go through all this"

"Yeah" answered his counterpart, low enough to not be heard. "By the way, are you done, or do you need help with that fly you're wrestling with?"

"Keep your hands to yourself, you dirty old creep" responded the redhead "There. Done"

Sirius took a look at the other wizard. "It'll do. At least you didn't put your shirt on backwards this time"

They both looked unassuming enough, he thought, at least for wizards trying to get by as muggles in a foreign country.

Bill Weasley was a tall, ruggedly handsome fellow, with a long mane of red hair held up by a low pony-tail and freckles all over his face. The man had to be in his late thirties, maybe even his early forties, but kept in good shape, which gave him a youthful appearance.

On the other hand, Sirius Black was the shorter of the two. He was skinnier, not as bulky as his friend, and held himself up less awkwardly. He had to be pushing fifty, with gray streaks of hair on the sides of his head, along his well-kept beard, and deep lines showing in his forehead, around the eyes and circling the mouth.

They painted an odd picture, but nothing too far removed from any weirdo one might encounter strolling down any muggle street.

"So, where to?" asked the redhead.

"I'm not completely sure. Apparently we have to meet a dealer named Knox in a bar downtown. Everything's very hush-hush."

"Why is it never pretty ladies in fluffy hotel rooms, mate?. Anyway, how did we come across the information this time?"

"Snivellus, again." Sneered the older one. "You Know Who's been growing restless, or so Snivellus says... When Neville didn't die by his hand, the Dark Lord grew obsessed with the prophecy. He believes Harry might still be alive somewhere, so he set his mind to abduct and execute everyone sharing that name all over the world. So far he's got five, but none of them matched Harry's profile. One was an accountant... Can you imagine Harry Potter as an accountant?"

"For all we know... I don't know, mate, could be. You haven't seen the boy since, well, ever..."

"Mundungus managed to get a few gears moving, and we got the information that brought us to Los Angeles. Once in the city, it was easy enough to follow the trail, though it seems it disappeared suddenly, a few years back. Apparently he was sharing a room with a couple young blokes and a girl, and disappeared one night, after partying in a Club called "Confession". Talk about getting your hopes up... ...After that, just rumors. Sightings, the eventual conversation with his friends, false leads..."

"And this Knox fellow? What do we know about him?"

Sirius harrumphed, stroking his chin softly. "Nothing out of the ordinary. Apparently he deals with drugs and information in town. From what I've heard he's a bit of a small fry, but a very enthusiastic and decent enough bloke. Tends to talk a bit too much, though, so I've been told. Even better for us, I reckon."

Both men kept walking through the alleyways until they reached a run-down looking bar, nearing the end of the downtown area. The place looked uninviting, with a small entrance crowned by a dingy sign reading 'The Last Round'. Nearing the bar, a few street-bums hung out around a makeshift heater, made burning paper in a barrel. Heavy bikes were clumsily parked in front of the entrance, signaling who made up at least part of the clientele.

Bill swallowed. "Are you sure we'll be ok? It doesn't look very... ehm, homely"

"We'll be fine, don't sweat it" Sirius admired the bikes before holding a breath and pushing the door firmly.

They were greeted by a heavy cloud of tobacco smoke, followed by the pungent smell of alcohol and the booming noise of something they decided had to be music. If the outside looked uninviting, the inside didn't bode any better, Bill thought.

It was definitely small, for a bar, and it had to be at least three or four decades old, like an old relic from the late fifties, now transformed into what appeared to be a biker bar. Certainly, time hadn't done it any favors. The wood covering the floors, walls and furniture, seemed old, stained and worn-out, creaking with every step they took. The light was very dim, emanating from a few vintage lamps that hung from the ceiling, covered in dust.

It was not crowded by any means, you could tell that was probably as full as it would always get. The patrons looked as menacing and unfriendly as the locale painted everything else to be. A few of them were sitting on stools, resting their elbows on the bar, chatting around quite a few empty beer bottles. Most of the lot, however, were piled by the rear end, around the pool table and a broken down pinball machine where some stairs were insinuating the existence of another floor. Oddly enough, some of them looked out of place in there, younger than you'd expect, and a lot less hardened in life, but didn't seem to be regarded as outsiders by the rest.

Sirius took a few tentative steps towards the bar, at his left, tended by a shifty-looking old woman. Its surface seemed grimy, dirty and was damp with beer spills and like the rest of the establishment, in dire need of an overhaul. At his right, opposite from the bar, were the remains of what Sirius guessed was an old diner, with moldy looking faux-leather couches, and dusty formica chromed tables. He continued advancing until he got at an arms distance from the barmaid. Behind her, liquor bottles were piling up, most of them half-empty, and a few beer glasses were left untouched at the counter.

"What will it be, hun?" She rasped out scrubbing a beer mug with a brownish rag that Sirius knew it had to have been red, at some point.

"We'll have a couple of those" he said, pointing at the beer bottles from three passed-out guys at the bar. "We'll sit by the couches". Sirius looked at Bill and signaled to follow him. As they passed, gazes fell upon them, sizing them up. Some of the conversations stopped while the wizards made their way through, but other than a dirty look or two, nobody approached them or said anything other than a grunt in their general direction.

"Charming, isn't it? I bet you can find finer places in Knockturn Alley"

They sat down waiting for their order to come.

"Don't get your knickers in a twist, Bill. I'm sure they are a friendly bunch, once you get to know them." Retorted Sirius, smiling at the visible uneasiness of his companion. "Anyway, that Knox bloke will be here soon enough"

Bill responded mumbling "I hope so, it's almost time, and I don't want to spend more time than the strictly necessary in this place. If the beer tastes as rancid as the air smells, I don't think I'll stay and wait for him"

"Worry not, my friend. It'll taste like piss, I'm sure" Said Sirius, wriggling his eyebrows, earning a snort from his companion.

Their chat was interrupted by the barmaid, who brought them their drinks, and left as swiftly as she had come, to adopt her original position behind the bar, watching an old, dusty telly that hung from the ceiling, threatening to fall off at any given time. As they were preparing to take the first sips from their bottles, the door opened once more with a creaking sound. Quickly, a shaky-looking young man entered. By his looks, he couldn't be older than twenty. He had an odd air about him, looking nervous and excited.

The guy stood in the middle of the room, starting to stretch his neck as far as he could to look over the bar, apparently searching for someone. When his gaze fell upon the pair of wizards, he made a sound that, to Sirius, closely resembled a squeal, and made his way towards them.

"It's you, ain't it?!" He asked, excitedly.

"I'm sorry?" Asked Bill, perplexed.

"Ha! I knew it! Oh man, I knew it when I saw you! At first I was like: it can't be, but then I got close and BAM! Oh gee, man, there you are!"

Sirius blinked. Repeatedly. "Knox?" he tried.

"Hell yeah! The one and only! Knox Harrington at your service! You guys totally sound british. I so knew it. First I saw you and said to myself; nah! But hearing you... it was like I could just sense you! Oh man, this will be awesome! What can I do you for, then, what?"

Bill looked at Sirius mouthing 'Is he high?'

Sirius shrugged in response, turning to face the younger man. "Do you know why we're here?"

"Damned if I do! I know you're looking for someone I might know, oh man, or so I'm told. You know a guy who knows about a guy I know, don't you?"

"Ehm... Something like that, yeah. We talked to an acquaintance of yours, Arthur Kilpatrick. He's a bondsman down in Santa Monica, although he does quite a bit of bounty hunting and P.D. Work, from what I heard."

"Arthur, yeah! Cool guy, man! Solid dude! Carson, a friend of mine, used to work for him. We go way back, you know, almost brothers, they say, oh man! It's been ages since I've seen him..."

Bill sighed at his ramblings, turning to look away. He saw some of the patrons were suddenly a bit more interested in their conversation, and were trying, not succeeding, though, to cover their interest in it. He looked at Sirius to try and warn him of the development, but his companion was too engrossed in the conversation to notice him.

Sirius stopped Knox's blabber. "As I was explaining, Mr. Kilpatrick told us he bailed you out of the police station's cells a few years ago. We don't care about why you were detained, but we are interested in the person who employed Mr. Kilpatrick to bail you out. A fellow briton. A young man by the name of Evans"

Knox's demeanor changed at the mention of the name. He stilled. As soon as the shift in attitude occurred, Sirius knew they had hit a nerve. Bill noticed too, but was the only one of the pair who also became aware that the mood hadn't only changed in Knox, but almost the whole bar.

" ...We were hoping you could help us locate him, he might be my long lost son, you see..." Continued Sirius, smiling reassuringly.

"I-I don't know what you're talking about! It's been ages! Could be... man, I don't know man, someone I owed money or something... Yeah, that must be it, yeah!"

Sirius insisted. "Look, I know you're lying. That much is obvious. It's important that you tell me everything you know, he might be..." As he was speaking Knox became agitated.

"I told you, man, ok? I don't know anything about Harry and..." He shut up instantly. Knowing he had screwed up as much as soon as he saw the change in his interlocutor's face.

Sirius' heart jumped in his chest when he heard the name. "I haven't told you his name is Harry, Knox."

They were close, he thought. He was about to continue pressuring the younger man...

"What did Nines tell you about dealing here, Knox?"A new voice joined their discussion, making them both jump in their seats.

Knox looked at the new member of their table with a mixture of fear and relief. "Damsel, my girl! I'm not dealing anything, don't worry, girl. We were just talking, them and me, yeah, talking, that's all!"

In Bill's opinion, Damsel was nothing like her name suggested. Young, he assumed, the girl couldn't have been older than twenty, although as far as Bill could tell, despite her youth, the young woman commanded a lot of authority in the Last Round.

'_Damsel_', he snorted inwardly. She certainly didn't look the part; She was a redhead, which was a familiar thing to him, petite and very pretty, sure, but she masked it with a very unladylike snarl gracing her soft features, or the way she dressed, wearing shiny black combat boots, green military cargo pants and a tight wife beater. If her clothing was anything to go by, she surely wasn't someone you wanted to mess with and she looked ready for a fight at any given moment. Also, her body language and speech patterns didn't seem tailored for a christmas dinner at mom's. Damsel was aggressive, and she wanted the world to know it.

Despite what she outwardly was showing, there were signs of an underlying girlishness in the way she pouted while trying to sound angry, the manner in which she tousled her hair or how she adjusted her beret from time to time. Amusing as it was, Bill didn't want to risk having her angry with him.

"I don't want to know, Knox. I really don't. If you care about not getting my boots stuck up your ass so far that you'll be able to lick' em from the inside of your mouth, I suggest you take your sorry behind out of here and back to Bertram's. We don't want you ghouling in our turf. I thought Nines made it very clear the last time he spoke with your Master." She pointed at Knox menacingly. "Get out of here, or I'll throw you out".

At her outburst, Knox became even more nervous and fidgety. He kept looking from her to Sirius, alarm showing on his face.

"Da-Damsel, my girl, c-come on! I'm not doing nothing 'bout that, we were just talking, you see? Yeah, talking, man! They don't know anything about that and..."

His excuses were interrupted by the older of the two Wizards clearing his throat. Both Knox and Damsel turned to look at him, one curious, the other nervous.

"Look, ehm... Damsel, right? We don't know what he deals with, or what kind of issue he has with you lot, and personally, we don't particularly care either. We're here with him to talk, that's all. Our business is not of your concern, no offense, and if we do bother you or your companions, we'll take them somewhere else."

Damsel looked at him dismissive but stern. She did show a bit of surprise in the way she had been responded to, as if she wasn't used to be talked in that way but she recovered quickly and responded as acidly as she'd been talking to Knox.

"Oh, don't worry, you'll be taking it somewhere else alright" She smirked. Her knuckes cracked, and she moved to take the younger man's arm, as to lift him up to his feet. "Get the fuck out of here, Knox, we don't want you babbling in here. The last thing we need is one of you Capes coming to clean your fucking mess when word is out you've been giving out shit you weren't supposed to"

At this point, if Knox's face was anything to go by, Sirius knew things were going to get physical very soon. He was reaching for his wand, slowly, when something slammed against his occlumency shields, making him stumble in his seat. It wasn't the subtle, gentle probe of legilimency. This was different, dark, cold and blunt. Bill looked like he felt it too, confirming for both of them that it wasn't the wizarding mind arts. This was something else, but they knew it came from the little, aggressive redhead, whose presence seemed to grow as the room became smaller before their very eyes.

Bill barely noticed Knox retreating, terrified. Damsel's presence had grown even stronger. She demanded attention, somehow, and only their training in occlumency prevented her from getting it. Knox had huddled up in a corner, looking about to wet himself, while Sirius thought of the different things that could go awry should he whip out his wand and start flinging spells.

'_Better a few oblivations than a few broken bones_', he reasoned. She wasn't a wizard, she couldn't be. For all intents and purposes she should be a muggle. Yet, something was off with her, some kind of 'magic' was permeating the air around her, feeling as if she was actively controlling it. She couldn't be a Wizard, but didn't seem to be human either.

"What are you?" he muttered to himself, low, quietly.

As if she had heard him, she tilted her head towards them, curiously. Damsel stood up and, in a gesture that didn't go unnoticed, looked behind her, as if searching for someone. Bill saw a big, burly black man, in the far back, near the pool table, behind the curious customers, frowning at the younger-looking redhead disapprovingly, but saying nothing.

Damsel turned quickly to look at the magic users again, so fast that Bill thought her neck would snap.

Alarmed by the sudden movement, Sirius sprang up knocking the table down and drew his wand, pointing it at Damsel, who despite not knowing what it was, perceived the thread. "Skelter!" she called out to the beefy guy, who strode over so quickly he could have apparated. Silence reigned in the room. Nobody dared to move a muscle.

"If I were you, I would think carefully about what's to follow, before doing whatever you think you're about to do, dude." Spoke the big guy, Skelter.

Bill rose up, slowly, wand ready, swallowing the lump in his throat. "It's up to you, _mate_..." He replied. "Sirius, I think we should get out of here, quickly"

"Believe me, I agree"

The stand-off was broken as the sound of the door, being opened suddenly and banging against its frame resounded through the bar, taking everyone out of their reverie. Sirius frantically searched for Knox. He had left.

"Shit, after him, Bill!"

"Fuck this!" Exclaimed the female redhead, charging at Sirius, going for a sucker punch. The older wizard barely managed to dodge, following with a banishing charm that hurled the girl and her companion crashing against the pinball machine. It hit them stronger than intended, and Sirius was sure it had knocked the air out of their lungs.

"Don't let him escape, I'll inform the Order and obli-" He didn't have time to finish when, in a blink of an eye, both Damsel and Skelter were upon him and he was forced to dodge an incoming blow from the big guy.

As Bill managed to jump over the couches, pass through the door, and follow the escaping informant, Sirius surrounded himself with a shield charm that blocked the blows of his opponents, and kept banishing furniture against them.

They dodged with speed and hit with strength that shouldn't be possible for a muggle.

The rest of the bar was in an uproar, although the people watching didn't seem to be surprised about what was happening. The crowd seemed to be divided between cheering on the fighters, throwing bottles at Sirius or observing excitedly. Some of them looked ready to butt in at any given moment.

"Damn!" Skelter was caught up in a conjured rope while Damsel brushed off a stunner spell that caught her midsection. Surprised, Sirius was forced to be in the defensive, avoiding blows whenever he could. To top it off, the invasive presence assaulting his mental defenses kept striking continuously, posing a permanent mental distraction in the fight.

"_Merlin, I can't keep this up_" Conjured dogs aided the wizard fending off the girl's attacks, giving him a moment to breathe and prepare an escape.

"What the fuck? Skelter, help!"

With a mighty roar, the bigger assailant snapped the ropes binding him and readied a punch. Sirius trusted his shield, preparing a minor blasting curse to counter, when the Shield Charm snapped under the force of the blow, incapable of absorbing the force behind it. A loud "crack!" echoed through the room as Sirius was blown backwards, crashing through the windows, rolling through the pavement out in the streets. The dogs harassing Damsel reverted to furniture.

"_Ouch. Shit, that hurt. In St. Mungo's they won't believe me when I tell them about this_" Shakily, he stood up, only to see Skelter jumping over the broken glass and outside. He was sure he had broken a few ribs.

Through the door came Damsel, cracking her knuckles. "Don't think this is over, you asshole. We're gonna get medieval on your ass!"

Sirius swallowed, contemplating his options. "_I can't go on fighting. Whatever they are, they're tough._" He tried to stand up, his legs wobbly. "I'm sorry Miss, but I believe I overstayed my welcome" He bowed mockingly, trying not to show how injured he was. "_I've got to get to Bill_"

"Like hell you're leaving now, you pussy motherfucker you. Haven't taught you manners yet" Threatened the girl.

"I'm afraid you don't have a say in this matter" The wizard drew his wand, and with a soft popping sound, he was gone.

Damsel blinked. "What the fuck?"

Skelter strode over to her side, and crouched where the wizard had fallen, grunting. "Beats me" He touched the drops of blood in the ground, examining it on the tips of his fingers with fascination.

"Tremere?" Asked the girl, anxious.

The big guy sniffed his digits, then brought them to his mouth, sucking his fingertips with gusto. "hmmmm..."

"What?"

"Not Kindred. Kine."

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><p>The young dealer ran like he had the devil on his heels. He stumbled over a few trash bins, then hit the ground face first after slipping on the wet pavement.<p>

"Dammit!" He cursed "Fuck, fuck fuck fuck..."

Unbeknownst to him, he was being observed by the red-headed wizard, who had been trailing him since he left The Last Round in Downtown.

"Why do you keep getting yourself in this messes, Knox... Bertram tells you, but nooooo... Fuck!" Knox struggled to get back on his feet, looking nervously through the alley. Bill kept observing the young man from a distance, disillusioned and hiding in a dark corner, far back from where the dealer had fallen. He decided to follow him, to see if he was brought somewhere interesting.

"I need to talk about this with Bertram, he'll wanna know, yeah, he will. God dammit Knox, damn! Why did they have to go and ask about HIM"

Knox looked around one last time before crouching beside a sewer entrance. Skillfully, he pried it open, stepping swiftly down the shaft.

Bill made motion to follow, managing to catch the lid between his fingers just before it closed again. He could still hear Knox's footsteps echoing down below "What I do for the Order..."

He jumped down into the darkness, greeted by the smell of something that some time before had been inside a human being. The air was heavy, thick, humid and rancid, and it was very, very dark in there; he couldn't almost see two feet in front of him.

"Lumos" he uttered, whispering. The tip of his wand hued a clear blue light showing a narrow, cylindrical corridor in front of him. It went in two directions, and he didn't know which one to take.

"Point me Knox Harrrington" The wand spun in the palm of his hand as the spell took effect, finally stopping, andpointing behind him. The wizard sighed end turning around, started following the trail.

The sewers were starting to feel like an impossibly long and complicated maze. The corridor had stretched out a bit, so Bill was able to walk up straight, but there were tons of crossings, doors or water accesses. He was starting to regret following the dealer down here. If not for his wand, he would be thoroughly lost.

Bill kept advancing in silence, following the motions of his wand, accompanied only by the sound of the water falling through the drains and the creaking of the few rats that crossed his way.

BANG!

Suddenly, a loud banging sound rebounded on the drain pipes with force, making him jump out and let out a scared yell.

Stumbling, the older wizard appeared before Bill, falling to his knees in the process. "You won't believe what happened back there..."

"Bloody Hell, Sirius. Merlin-fucking-dammit! You almost gave me a heart attack, mate!"

"He, he, you're such a girl, Weasley". Bill gasped when he saw the state his friend was in. "Merlin, they got you well. Are you alright?"

"Nothing a good healing charm won't cure. Can you perform one on me? I'm rubbish at them anyway, and I'm exhausted. Lucky you were broadcasting your magic off like a radio signal, would've had to use the emergency portkey to locate you otherwise.

"Here you go mate" The younger wizard healed the older one. As the wounds mended, Sirius took a look at the scenery.

"How did you get so banged up anyway"

"Ouch! Be careful, Weasley!

"sorry, but it was necessary"

"Anyway, the big guy made it through my shielding charm with one blow. With his bare hands"

"pheeeew" Whistled the younger one. "Did it blow you back when the charm snapped, then? That hurts"

"Yeah, went straight through the window. I don't think they were muggles, Bill. The way they moved..."

"yeah, I saw. Couldn't be wizards either, though. They didn't seem to recognize the wands or cast any spells, for that matter. I think they were something else."

The older wizard got serious. "They know about Harry..."

"They seem to. Got awfully defensive when he was brought up, and I don't think it was coincidence." Bill cleared his throat "Either way, Knox escaped through these sewers and I've been following him for half an hour straight. This conduits seem to go on forever.

"How are you tracking him?"

"Point me charm"

"hmmmm" harrumphed Sirius, looking around. We should keep going then.

They continued walking together through the old sewage system, twisting and turning following the directions of the charm.

"you don't think he's gotten himself into something like... the mafia, don't you?"

"Who?"

"Harry"

"I don't know mate. Could be anything. We should be sure he's safe, whatever he's gotten himself into."

"I hope we find him soon"

"We will Sirius, we will"

The minutes became hours, and the conduits in that cesspool seemed to get longer and longer. Both wizards were starting to tire out. "Are you sure we're not going in circles?"

"Pretty sure. I'm following the point-me charm all the time and..." As if called by its name, the charmed wand spun once and stuck up rigidly to their right, pointing there straight. The wizards gazed towards the pointed direction, discovering only darkness, broken by a tiny ray of light filtering through the lower part of a door.

"Must be it"

The wizards followed the wand, arriving rapidly at the gate. Bill fumbled in the dark, looking for the knob. He clasped it strongly and pushed. It didn't bud. " I don't know why I was expecting it to open"

The older wizard pointed the wand at the lock and whispered "Alohomora". With a little flash of yellow light and a slight clacking sound inside the mechanism, it opened before them.

What greeted them, left them almost speechless.

Before them, laid a large room, seemingly constructed in a cave. At the center of it was a large, fancy table, light by candles giving off the smell of burning wax, with a feast prepared to surprise the guests. At the table, waiting for whomever it was that had to join, were three sharply dressed, skeletal cadavers, clasping their forks and knives with strength, and with expressions of terror. Elegant wine glasses and fancy wine bottles crowned the table, surrounded by fancy decorations and two enormous bookshelves.

"What in merlin's name..."

"Sirius!" Bill approached the table, drawing his hands in front of his mouth, to avoid vomiting. On closer look, the feast was not so palatable. Instead of pheasant and beef, there were rats in the plates, and wine looked like dried blood. The blood was everywhere, giving off a pungent and strong metallic smell, staining everything on the table.

"Shite, mate, let's get out of..."

The doors closed behind them with strength. The wizards contemplated in horror as the only exit they knew out of that room closed itself magically before their eyes.

Out of nowhere, a voice...

_"By The Clack_-_Smack Cracking Of My Thumbs_, _Something... ...Magic... This Way Comes"_


	2. Chapter 2

**Harry Potter & Los Angeles by Night**

**2. You Can't Always Get What You Want**

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><p>It rained heavily when she crept past the door. Entering the building she became aware that the Empire Hotel was in a state of entropy. Detective Miles sighed as she strode her way through the waves of journalists and curious people piled at the main door, sliding past the personnel and security on the way to the elevators. She pressed the button impatiently, shedding the wet coat from her shoulders, muttering a few curses.<p>

Shaking the water off of her wavy blond hair, the detective rescued the case files from her bag and tried to read them while the elevator came down. Sarah Miles was a recent addition to the Precinct, having worked quite a few difficult cases upstate before being promoted to detective and reassigned Downtown. Her rapid ascension had raised a few eyebrows within the department, but her fame as a hard-working cop soon placated the rumors of favoritism.

This was going to be her most important case yet. Pity that it didn't make any sense. She didn't know how this seemingly natural death had alarmed so much the department or which direction she was supposed to take the investigation in. There was no suspect, no apparent cause, no trace of a weapon and, apparently, no motive at all. The victim was one Ingvar Johansen, a Norwegian anthropologist and archaeology professor who specialized in ancient Sumerian and Mesopothamian culture. The guy had been old, on his late seventies, so him showing up dead of cardiac arrest in his room at the Hotel didn't seem too strange of an occurrence. No living family or close acquaintances in the area, it made no sense to continue investigating after the preliminary was done with it, but she wouldn't argue with the Captain.

Miles' thoughts were interrupted as the elevator announced its arrival with a soft pinging noise that reverberated through the empty lobby. The doors slid open slowly. "Well, well, Detective Miles! What a lovely surprise!" Her thoughts were interrupted as she was about to step inside the metal box by a very unwelcome arrival. She turned, annoyed, regarding the newcomer with a cold glare and an even colder greeting.

"What do you want, Bullock?" Detective James Bullock was the bane of her existence, she decided. He was the ying to her yang. Sure, he was a handsome enough fellow, tall, broad shoulders, and a square-shaped jaw to boot. He would be very attractive if he ever decided to exercise and clean up. The problem with Bullock, to her, was his personality. He was lazy, laid back, and never took things seriously. At least not as seriously as she did. Where she was methodical and organized, he was chaotic and untidy. Not only that, but he seemed to relish in it and the fact that he could rile her up to extreme lengths by doing so.

"Aren't you a bag of sunshine, Miles?" Bullock smiled. He wiped something off of his hand on his stained trench-coat before offering it to her to shake. She looked at it for a few seconds, then at his smile, deciding not to take him up on his offer. She strode into the elevator, grumbling, past his friendly gesture. He followed her in.

"Have it your way, then." He responded, his smile never leaving his face. "I just came down to greet you, you know. No need for that early dose of passive-aggressiveness" Bullock pressed the button of the fifth floor, where the supposed victim was staying. The other detective exhaled, noisily. "Specially when I have been assigned to work the case with you" His smile broadened, stretching on his stubble-covered face. To emphasize the point, he made an exaggerated bow. "At your service!"

She looked on in horror "You've got to be kidding me."

"Nope, as much as I'd enjoy riling you up just for the sake of it, it's Chief's orders." Bullock mock saluted her. "Anyway, let's try and get along on this one, Miles"

"Yeas, let's..." She responded, rubbing her temples. A sudden but soft jerking motion announced their arrival. Miles exited quickly, followed swiftly by the other detective. They followed an ample corridor, richly decorated until they arrived at their destination. You could see officers here and there, interviewing the hotel residents and personnel. Every door was open, people from the department getting in and out. On her way in, she spotted a short, balding man, finishing a few notes, resting on the doorframe. Fredericks,the coroner. "Fredericks, what have we got?"

"Good evening to you too, Miles. Bullock." The coroner greeted them both with a nod.

"Hey Fredericks" Answered the other detective.

"So?" Asked Miles, impatiently.

"Easy, Miles, what's up with you today?"

"She's been paired with me for this one" Bullock held up his hand and laughed at her apparent discomfort.

"I can see why she'd be like that then" Replied the other man, winking at Miles, which brought a small smile to her lips.

"Hey! What do you mean by that?"

"Anyway," Interrupted the coroner. "Everything is as the preliminary report says. He died last night, around half-past eleven. It looks like natural causes to me. The guy was old. Not that old, mind you, but old enough that it's not a big surprise when these things happen. No wounds or puncture marks anywhere visible on the body. I'll probably know more when the autopsy is over, but I seriously doubt there will be much to look for."

"Who found the body?" asked Bullock while Miles was taking notes.

"The maid, apparently. She entered to clean, as the room hadn't been tended to for days. She found him sprawled on the sofa" Answered Fredericks. "If you want to know more, check up on me on a few days, I might have something new for you guys, though, as I said, I seriously doubt it. You're welcome, by the way." He took a suitcase that rested at Miles' feet and darted down the corridor, leaving the detectives alone.

"What do you think, Miles?" Asked the bigger detective.

"We will have to interview the maid."

"I can take care of that on the way out. I'm good with the ladies"

"It shows..." She snapped back, striding past him.

"Did Ms. Serious crack a jab at me? I can't believe it." Bullock followed her in. "Wow, I wouldn't mind staying a night or two in here..."

The hotel room was big, spacious and open. It wasn't a suite by all means, but the detective wouldn't have minded to stay there for a few days on vacation either, if the captain had let her go a few days. Not that she wanted to remain in LA for that, though.

It was a square room, with heavy, tall, meticulously carved, ebony doors, windows, and richly decorated wooden furniture. On one side of the room, a velvet couch sat accompanied by a lone tea table, set opposite of a big TV. A white marble fireplace coronated that side, while the bed, big and comfy-looking, rested unmade near the ample windows, now bombarded by the rain outside.

The fireplace was cold, but had been used, Miles noted mentally. There were ashes on it. On the tea-table laid a book on myths of the ancient world, written by Professor Ilya Djurgevich. Beside the book there were also two cups of red wine. One was full. The other was half empty. The bottle rested on the floor, contents spilled over the carpet, staining it in red. On the couch you could still make up the Professor's silhouette, though the cadaver was nowhere to be seen. "They should've taken it out by now." Mused Miles, to herself. While Bullock kept on looking through the closet, she picked the book up for closer inspection. As she was about to open it, a knocking sound took her out of her reverie.

"Pardon, could you by any chance be detectives Miles and Bullock?" It came from the door. There, just below the frame, stood a man clad in a dark, antiquated suit, an umbrella, and a bowler hat. He looked certainly out of place, even comically so.

"And who might you be?" Asked the other man before Miles could even utter a word.

"Ah yes! I'm sorry." He exclaimed jovially, rummaging through one of his jacket's pockets. "Seamus Finnegan, Scotland Yard." He drew out a badge which offered to the other detectives. "I apologize for the lateness, but the clerk wouldn't let me in until I spoke with one of your officers outside. Then the bloody lift has decided to ages to come down." He extended his hand towards the detectives who shook it with a little bit of trepidation.

Miles took the opportunity to ask her own questions as Bullock shook hands with the newcomer. "And what brings you here, Mr. Finnegan?"

"Detective Constable" Corrected the newcomer. "And the dead body, of course." He deadpanned.

The foreign detective took off his hat, revealing sandy hair and a hard, round face. His eyes were small and squinty, but lively, and his ears were on the bigger end of the spectrum, which made him look a bit ridiculous, specially in the outfit he was sporting.

"Does Scotland Yard normally go to other countries to investigate?"

"Good heavens, I hope not, Detective... Miles, I suppose?" She nodded. "The work would never bloody end. Merlin, we'd be hard pressed at the department to keep up with that." He laughed.

"Merlin?" Interjected Bullock.

"Old family thing. My mother used to say it." He clarified nonchalantly. "Anyway, Dr. Johanssen is the last on a series of intriguing deaths we've been encountering for the past few months back home. Here." He offered them folders which the detectives took. "Inside these, you'll find everything you need to know, but if you want the short version, which I suspect you might, I'm here because Dr. Johanssen was a close friend of all of the names inside those files. Every one of those people was found dead in similar circumstances to Dr. Johanssen. All of them close friends, all of them experts in ancient history, mythology, anthropology and archaeology, all of them specialists in Ancient Mesopotamia.

"All of them dead?" Asked Bullcok, bewildered.

"Indeed" Smirked Finnegan.

"The Ankaran Sarcophagus!" Interrupted Miles.

"What?" Asked her male counterpart. The other detective looked on intently.

"Twelve years ago. I was just fresh off the academy, when I was assigned guard duty for Dr. Johanssen. Damn, I knew the name sounded familiar. The guy had been kidnapped by a group of religious fanatics following the theft of The Ankaran Sarcophagus, an ancient artifact that was stolen from the museum. One of the names here..." She brought one of the files from the folder "...Professor Ilya Djurgevich, was also in Johanssen's team that night. I couldn't place it until now! The guy was even reading one of the other victim's books. Take it, Johanssen seems to have been reading it before he ended up dead." She offered the book to Finnegan, whose eyes sparkled with interest.

He took the book, examining it carefully."Djurgevich. Yes, he was the fourth. They found him in Paris. Was the first one we found overseas. Cardiac arrest." He continued. "So it seems the Sarcophagus might be a specific link between the two. I wonder if the others fit. Was the case ever resolved?"

Bullock joined the conversation "I remember it now, and not that I know of. A few weeks after the kidnapping, there was a terrorist attack downtown, at the LaCroix Foundation, which had the department up in arms for months. Half the goddamn building blew up. It was chaos, I tell you. A lot of investigations went south, ending up open and unfinished. Might still be in the archives though"

"Pity."The other male seemed to deflate a little bit after that. "Well, at least we've found something to keep investigating. We ought to take a look, I reckon. I'll leave you two to finish up here, and I'll meet you back at the precinct." He finished. Finnegan put his bowler hat back on faster than the americans thought he could, he exited through the door.

Miles chased after him, quickly exiting through the same opening the briton had used "Now wait just a min..."

She stood there, speechless. Finnegan was nowhere to be seen.

* * *

><p>"Welcome, Maximilian." Welcomed the Prince. He stood on one side of the office. Looking out the window to the city below, full of lights. The newcomer, Maximilian Strauss, observed the figure from the other side of the room, carefully, with a hint of amusement. Even with the Prince's back turned to him, he could feel is unrest. But stress came with the charge. They both knew it. There was always something to trouble the ones who were responsible for the well being of a whole community. He wasn't worried, of course. He knew he had his trust. Had had it for years now, cemented on mutual goals.<p>

Unlike his predecessor's, the Prince's office was spacious but austere at the same time. It was practical, like the man who inhabited it. He was a pragmatist, adaptable, and it reflected on everything he did, said or owned. Things had worked fine for over a decade under their rule, and Maximilian hoped they would continue.

"Good night. " Saluted back Strauss. He advanced through the room until the Prince spoke again.

"Will you take a seat, my friend?" The tone was devoid of emotion, deep, commanding. He sat on one of the guest's chairs on the desk, opposite from the Prince's seat. A simple wooden desk, stylish. On it rested a small package, long, thin. Maximilian raised an eyebrow, curiously taking in every detail.

A small black snake crept under the package, hissing, momentarily surprising the man. It slithered through the table, down one of its legs, then up to the Prince, who picked it up. The snake coiled itself on his forearm, hissing something in the Prince's ears.

"Yes. Indeed." He spoke, as if understanding the hissing. This particular ability had always unnerved Maximilian. It came naturally to the Prince, even though there hadn't been a Follower of Set in Los Angeles for decades. He heard the Prince hissing back, then speaking. "On the table there is something for you. I trust you, and you alone with it."

"Of course." Strauss smiled. He took the package, a simple wooden box, opening it. Inside, there were two richly decorated sticks, between nine and eleven inches in length. Made of wood. He grabbed one of them, examining it closely and twirling it between his fingers. It resonated, reverberated with energy, reacting to something inside of him. "Wands." He exclaimed out loud.

"Is that what they are?" Asked the Prince.

Maximilian didn't respond. He only nodded to himself. "Where did we get these?" He asked with interest. Wizards, he hadn't seen one in centuries. He needed to know. "Do we have their owners? I'd very much enjoy studying them..."

"Gary does." Responded the prince.

Gorgeous Gary Golden, thought the older man, was an untrustworthy person to depend on. "A pity."

"Indeed, but Gary and I have come to an arrangement. The affairs of others have always brought unrest in the community. It seems that we'll probably be seeing more of them in the weeks to come, and the Masquerade needs to be protected. They will be dealt with, in time. For now, I want you to tell me everything you know about those who use these wands. What can they do, how they operate..."

"My Friend..." Smiled Maximilian. "...I thought you'd never ask."

* * *

><p>It was late at night when Fleur arrived at the Santa Monica Suites. The entrance was in a pretty dingy alley, behind a run-down pawn shop. It wasn't the best neighborhood, specially at night, but they hadn't rented it to live in it. This was the safe house the Order of The Phoenix had arranged for their stay at Los Angeles. Inconspicuous, small, discreet. She, on the other hand, was anything but.<p>

Fleur Weasley was tall, slender, beautiful. A long flowing mane of silverly blonde hair, shining blue eyes, and proportioned in a way a lot of women would kill for. Even in the casual clothes she wore, she attracted looks everywhere she went. Even with her worry-worn face and her tear-stained, red, puffy cheeks.

It had been a week since Bill and Sirius had come to meet a man named Knox Harrington who might have had information about a person who could possibly know the whereabouts of a man everyone in Wizarding Britain had been looking for tirelessly for years. A week since they disappeared. A week without her husband. The Clock at the Burrow indicated that he was alive and well, not in mortal danger, which was a small consolation, but as well as he may have been, he wasn't with her, or their daughter.

The Order had sent Fleur together with an Auror, Kingsley Shacklebolt, a friend of Sirius, and Ginny Weasley, her husband's sister, who had insisted to come. All of them worked for the Order. They were to locate the two other wizards, discover what happened, and bring them back safely. This, had been three days ago. Unfortunately, every clue met a dead-end. There was no trace of her husband or Sirius, and Knox Harrington was nowhere to be seen. They had been thorough, that was for sure, she thought. Kingsley had visited everywhere Sirius and Bill had been since they apparated in Downtown Los Angeles. The Last Round, the bar they had supposedly been at with the contact, had been closed, looking abandoned. Meanwhile, Ginny and her had been looking for Knox in every corner of the city they could find him. They talked to Arthur Kilpatrick, a bondsman there in Santa Monica, the man Mundungus had sent them to, and who had talked them about Mr. Harrington in the first place. Nothing. Nothing for three days.

Fleur sighed tiredly as she opened the door, stepping into the hall while shaking off the rain. As she was about to close the door a hand stopped her.

"Please, wait!" The hand was followed by a pretty girl who hurriedly entered after her. "Thank you." she muttered breathing loudly. "Sorry 'bout startling you. I just didn't want to stand in the rain searching for the keys in the purse."

"It is alright." The taller one answered in heavily accented english. "No harm done, I suppose". She tried to smile. Fleur could now see the newcomer clearly. She was a young woman, probably in her early twenties, with a very pretty face and a petite constitution. She had green eyes, hair dyed crimson, done up in a tight bun, and thick-rimmed glasses. The newcomer was dressed as one of those "heepsters" se had heard her muggleborn friends bemoan about from time to time, with old, second-hand clothes elegantly picked.

"You French?" Asked the fake redhead. Noticing the look of the other woman, she quickly interjected. "That was rude of me, I'm sorry." She extended her hand for Fleur to shake it. " I'm Heather. I live in the 102."

Fleur graciously took the hand in her own, and shook it. "Don't worry. I'm Fleur. I'm staying at the 103"

"Really?" Heather asked. "People seem to come and go from that apartment lately. I thought a couple of British guys were sharing it, last I knew. They were gay, I think. Pretty cute couple, if you ask me."

The French witch snorted at the idea, nodding. "I've come to visit a friend of mine. I will not be staying for long."

Both women started walking up the stairs leading to their rooms, chatting.

"So, what do you do?" lively asked Heather, stepping ahead.

"I'm a clerk in a bank." Followed the blonde.

"In France?" The smaller woman kept pressing on.

Fleur was grateful for the conversation, but was starting to tire from all the questions. Which it may have shown on her face as she responded. "No, London."

The redhead seemed to catch on with it. "Sorry" She replied sheepishly. "Didn't mean to give you the impression that I was interrogating you. It's just that I rarely have the time to talk with the neighbors." She continued. "I work at the LaCroix Foundation, Downtown, and I'm there most of the day."

"It's okay. I'm sorry for taking it wrong, also. It's just..." The taller woman stammered for a moment.

The other girl smiled, interrupting her. "Well, your friend seems unable to give a good lasting impression of this city, if your face is something to go by... Rough day?"

"I... I just haven't been able to find who... what I was looking for." Replied Fleur Sadly.

"And you are alone?" Asked the smaller female innocently.

"For now. A friend is staying with me, but won't come for another two or three hours."

"That's a long time for someone who's feeling like you are." The redhead commented. "I like you, you seem nice." She decided matter-of-factly. Fleur smiled. "Tell you what, a friend of mine runs a small club here in Santa Monica, The Asylum. I'm headed there with a few buddies later. If you want, you can come by and have a bit of fun with us. We will certainly enjoy you."

Fleur was surprised at the offer. It would be good for her to take her mind off of things. She could certainly use a breather. On the other hand, she needed to find Bill and Sirius, and she had barely just met this woman, as sympathetic and trustworthy as she seemed to be. The blonde decided against it. She would wait for Ginny and see where they were headed next. "I apologize, but I'm afraid I should stay home tonight."

"That's a pity." They arrived at Heather's door, stopping suddenly. The smaller woman turned to look at Fleur in the eyes. As Fleur gazed back, she started to get drawn to the other woman's eyes, which seemed to glow under the light of the corridor. She felt attracted to those orbs like a moth to a flame, unable to look away. They shone mysteriously, the color of the killing curse, as if they housed forbidden knowledge she had to acquire.

The petite woman's lips appeared in her mind, full, succulent. The voice, which before had seemed meek and uninteresting, now captivated her, making her wait for their next utterance. They spoke sensually into her transfixed mind. "You need to relax. Come to the Asylum. You won't get what you want, but you'll might certainly find what you need. Let go. Come to the Asylum with us. Come tonight" Something in her mind seemed to try and fight the words, but it became smaller and smaller until it was just an echo in the back of her conscience.

The words kept repeating themselves in her thoughts over and over again, as if they were the most important thing she had ever heard. "_Come..._" It repeated "_Come to the Asylum, come tonight._" it kept on. She would have fun. She would meet Heather's friends. She would drink away her worries for one night. Would she dance? Would she find what she needed? Yes she would. "_Come, and you'll find what you need..._" The words weren't stopping, bombarding her every thought. "_Come, Fleur. You must come with us... Fleur..._ Fleur, Fleur!, FLEUR!"

The blonde jerked up suddenly to meet the worried eyes of her sister in law.

Ginny was half undressed, hands holding her, which Fleur considered strange since she should just have arrived. It smelled as if something was cooking on the stove.

"What? Ginny? How?" She blinked. She was inside the apartment, the safe house. Sitting on the crumpled bed. A headache started to make itself present behind her eyelashes as she struggled to get fully awake. "I... I have been waiting for you"

"Waiting for me? You just arrived, Fleur." Snarled the girl. "I was up all night worrying about you. I thought you were out chasing a lead on Bill and Sirius or something, and you come here as if you've been partying the whole night.

That startled the older woman. "All night?"

"It's half-past eleven." Grumbled Ginny.

"Half-past eleven?" She looked outside and saw the sun shining brightly through the dirty windows. "I..." The headache assaulted her full on as she tried to remember what happened. Her heart started beating quicker, anxiety creeping in. "I think I'll take a shower..."

"Yeah, you do that."

Fleur entered the bathroom as quickly as possible, escaping the wrath of the younger witch and avoiding the urge to vomit. She closed the door behind her, heading towards the sink. Splashing water on her face she calmed down. She breathed deeply, trying to regain her wits. Her reflection looked back at her with heavy bags under the eyes and smeared make-up. On the corner of her eye she saw a bruise forming on her neckline, tracing its shape with the tip of her fingers. Ugly, dark purple. She couldn't have cheated on Bill, she thought, impossible... Could she?

As she tried to remember, the headache came back with a vengeance. Images assaulted her mind. Flashes of the night. On some of them, there was Heather. On others, there were other people. Loud music, she remembered loud music. There had been dancing, and drinking. Heavy drinking. Fleur stumbled a bit, holding her head as memories started flooding in. Heather kept appearing on her mind as she struggled to get a sense of what had happened. There had been another woman with them. A pretty blonde woman. Jennifer? Jean? Jeanette, that was it. She remembered thinking the woman had to be a Veela, like her. And men, there were men with them. What were their names...

One, a strange fellow, liked to be called Vandal. Came with Jeanette. The other one kept slipping past her tongue... Kyle? Kevin? No, that wasn't it...

She started the hot water and began to undress. Stepping into the stream, the french witch tried to recall the name of the last person with them. As she started soaping up, she saw a big stamp on her forearm reading 'The Asylum Club'. Suddenly everything clicked into place violently.

Ginny was about to bite into her breakfast when the door of the bathroom slammed open and a wet, wide-eyed veela stepped out of it.

"I know where to find Knox Harrington."


End file.
